


shifting like the tide

by claryharry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Boys In Love, Break Up, Breaking Up & Making Up, Established Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Famous Louis Tomlinson, Getting Back Together, Happy Ending, Harry Styles - Freeform, Heartbreak, Heavy Angst, Louis Tomlinson - Freeform, Louis Tomlinson Loves Harry Styles, M/M, Non-Famous Harry, Post-Break Up, Sad Harry Styles, Sad with a Happy Ending, Singer Louis, Song Lyrics, Songwriter Harry Styles, Songwriting, as always i cannot tag, larry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-07-08 15:32:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19871935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claryharry/pseuds/claryharry
Summary: In the future, Louis will look back on this moment and still not be able to tell you what came over him and made him say what he does. He’s shocked at himself when he says, “Then maybe we shouldn’t. Do it anymore, I mean.”Harry looks as shocked as Louis feels. “What?” he splutters. “Louis, that’s not what I meant.”Taking a seat on their bed, Louis shudders. “Think about it. All we do is fight. We aren’t the same people we used to be and we’re just holding onto something that’s been gone for a long time.”(Fic based on "Battlefield" by Lea Michele)





	shifting like the tide

**Author's Note:**

> hi! this will be two parts, so here's part one. 
> 
> it's based off of the song "battlefield" by lea michele so all rights go to her and her team, obviously this is fictional. 
> 
> and the usual disclaimer: i do not own one direction or any of its members, nothing in this is true. it's all fiction.
> 
> (there are probably typos everywhere because i haven't done heavy editing yet)
> 
> also, this is for bella. my favorite furrie.

London is cold, and wet, and dreary and it has been for weeks. Louis absolutely hates that the weather seems to be matching his mood as of late. The dark clouds overhead and the constant drizzle seem to be a rather depressing metaphor for his life. 

The chill in the air matching the ice he feels in his heart doesn’t help either. 

And it’s just. Louis shouldn’t feel like this. Louis is the luckiest person in the world. He has everything he ever could have asked for: a magnificent music career, a wonderful family, great friends, and an even greater boyfriend. 

If he has all of this, then why does he feel so fucking empty all the time? Why doesn’t going home to his boyfriend fill the cracks in his bones and warm his body like it used to? 

Realistically, Louis knows it has something to do with the fact that all he and Harry ever do anymore is fight. Cuddles turn to unbearable distance. Soft whispers turn to furious yelling. Laughter turns to tears that shatter Louis’s heart. 

And the thing is, Louis doesn’t know how to fix it. He doesn’t know how to make Harry happy again. How to bring back that light in his eyes. The light he knows he’s responsible for putting out. 

The tug on his hand reminds him of one of the glaringly obvious issues in their relationship. Louis turns to the short blonde girl next to him, raising his eyebrows. “Yeah, love?” 

“I know you just want to go home, and believe me, so do I, but you’ve got to at least try to look happy,” the girl says, giving his hand a comforting squeeze. 

Louis sighs, adjusting the too-large umbrella over their heads to shield them from the rain. “Sorry, Pez. I know this isn’t fun for you either.” 

Perrie gives him a strained smile, her eyes shifting to the paparazzi trailing in front of them as they walk through Hyde Park. “I don’t know why our teams didn’t reschedule. Who is going to believe we actually decided to go for a Sunday stroll in this bloody weather? Fucking twats, the lot of them.” 

Louis snorts, a real smile breaking through. Perrie is great and Louis doesn’t mind being around her considering they’re both in the same boat. Perrie is dating her bandmate, Jade; so, in order to avoid gay rumors on both ends, their team set up this... arrangement. 

When he was eighteen, wide-eyed, and bushy-tailed, a contract seemed like the least of his worries. That contract was going to get his name in lights and all of his lawyers advised him to sign it, despite certain clauses remaining. 

It was fine, he didn’t mind being closeted. It’s not like he was ready to tell the whole world he liked boys anyway. But then came Harry. And suddenly Louis wanted the entire world to know just how much he loved him. 

According to the media, he and Harry were “best mates of seven years.” The media didn’t know that they shared the same bed every night. That Perrie went back to her home and he went back to his after their “dates” were over. 

When he was eighteen, this narrative was fine. When he was eighteen, he would’ve done anything to be successful. 

Now he’s twenty-five and tired. Tired of the lies, tired of the rumours, tired of the fighting. He knows it’s obvious to everyone. There have been enough articles recently talking about him “looking devastated” as his relationship with Perrie “crumbles fast.” 

A few flashes go off, the light blinding Louis a bit and causing him to stumble backwards. Perrie lets out a laugh that only Louis can tell is fake and leans forward, pressing a chaste kiss on his lips. 

Another flash goes off. 

Well. Their “rekindled romance” will be making headlines soon enough, Louis figures. 

“I’m sorry,” Perrie whispers as they exit the park. She skips over a puddle, her landing causing a bit of water from the street to splash onto Louis’s jeans. 

“It is what it is,” Louis shrugs, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and pulling her into his side in a friendly embrace. To anyone else, it would look romantic. To Louis and Perrie, it’s just two friends leaning on each other to get through a difficult time. 

“So, what are you and Harry doing tonight?” Perrie asks, looking up at him. 

Hopefully sleeping. “Dunno, probably watch a bit of telly and just go to bed, to be honest.” 

Perrie pulls away from Louis, a look of confusion on her face. “Really?” 

They arrive at Louis’s car and Louis opens the door for Perrie, keeping the umbrella over both of them the entire time. “Yeah. Why do you look so confused?” 

“Just an odd thing to do for someone’s birthday, is all,” Perrie replies and pulls her door shut. 

Louis feels his face pale and his stomach drop because oh shit. Oh, _fuck_. It’s Harry’s birthday. It’s Harry’s fucking birthday and Louis fucking forgot. He ran out the door this morning to make it to the studio without even telling Harry goodbye and hasn’t responded to his texts all day. He’s the worst boyfriend in the world. The worst _person_ in the world. 

Perrie’s staring at him through the window. Water rivulets are blurring her face, but Louis can still see the exact moment she makes the connection, her mouth opening in a wide “O.” 

It’s raining harder now, so Louis backs away from the passenger’s side of the car and practically sprints to the driver’s side. He throws the door open and hauls himself inside, closing the umbrella and tossing it in the back seat. 

“Louis, you didn’t,” Perrie says just as Louis slams his door closed. “You didn’t.” 

Louis stares at the steering wheel. “I did.” 

Perrie buries her face in her hands. “Oh my God, you bloody idiot!” she exclaims. Louis stares at her dumbly. There’s a moment of silence before she gestures wildly at Louis and the steering wheel. “Well, drive! You aren’t getting home any faster just sitting here!” 

It’s takes longer than it should for Louis’s limbs to catch up with his muddled brain. His mind is in a state of pure panic, and he can’t seem to function properly. What is he going to do? 

“What am I going to do?” he asks Perrie, putting the car into drive and peeling out onto the street. His knuckles are white where they grip the wheel.

“I don’t know, Louis. How did this happen?” Perrie almost sounds more panicked than he does. 

The thing is, Louis doesn’t really know how it happened. He doesn’t know when it happened. He could’ve sworn his own birthday was only yesterday. 

“I don’t know! I guess between recording and promo and being back and forth between here and LA so much, I just forgot,” Louis admits, the sinking feeling in his stomach getting stronger. He’s surprised he hasn’t had to pull over yet to be sick. 

He goes ten over the speed limit the entire way to Perrie’s and the entire way home. 

****

It’s late when he gets home. Later than he was expecting it to be. And it’s only made worse by the fact that it’s closer to midnight than noon and it’s Harry’s birthday. 

The overwhelming smell of spices and meat fills his nose when he walks through the door. He notices the plate on the island in the kitchen, wrapped with a pink post-it note that says “Lou :).” 

Louis wants to cry. 

All of the lights downstairs are off, but he can hear faint music coming from upstairs, so that’s where he goes. 

Their door is propped open slightly, light spilling into the hallway. Louis takes a deep breath before entering, the nerves in his stomach rising to his throat. 

How is he supposed to face him? 

He doesn’t have time to figure it out because as soon as he opens the door, he’s met with Harry sitting amongst a mound of white pillows on their large bed, eyes red-rimmed and resigned look on his face.

“Hi, love,” Louis says, his voice already apologetic. He walks to the bed, leaning over the side to press a kiss to Harry’s lips. 

Harry turns his face at the last second, Louis’s lips meeting the warm skin of his cheek instead. 

He feels his heart sink impossibly lower when he licks his lips and tastes salt there. If Harry’s red, swollen eyes weren’t enough of a dead giveaway that he’d been crying, his salty cheeks are. 

“How was your day with Perrie?” Harry asks. He doesn’t look at Louis when he asks, just keeps his eyes fixated on the wall in front of him. Louis knows he’s trying to sound indifferent, but he can hear the venom in his voice. The kind that means a fight is coming. 

“Don’t do this,” Louis whispers, closing his eyes. “Please, don’t do this.” 

This causes Harry’s neck to snap toward Louis and there’s hellfire blazing in his eyes. “Don’t do _what?_ ” 

“This!” Louis exclaims _._ “I’m trying to apologize and you’re trying to pick a fight!” 

“Really? Because I don’t hear any apologies coming from you!” Harry slides off of the bed, rising to his feet and stalking around to face Louis. “God, I’m so tired of this, Lou. It’s my fucking birthday and you know what I’ve done all day? Sat around here, waiting, thinking you had some big surprise planned and were just pretending you forgot, but no. You actually forgot my birthday after seven years.” 

Louis chews on his bottom lip, trying to think of anything he could possibly say to make this go away. To make things better. “I’m sorry, baby. I really am. It’s just with recording and everything-“

“Fuck, Louis! Don’t try to make excuses. Don’t try to justify your behavior. Not just today, but for the past six months. We haven’t been okay for a while, and I’ve been hoping it’s just a rut. Hoping it’s just something we have to get through, but Lou, you don’t even _see_ me anymore. You’ve completely lost sight of me. Of us,” Harry cries, tears streaming furiously down his face. 

And maybe it’s fucked up, but Louis can’t help but think about how beautiful Harry looks in this moment. How beautiful he looks in all moments. 

Louis closes the gap between them, cupping Harry’s cheeks in his palms. His throat is starting to close up, tears threatening to fall from his eyes as well. “I see you. I see you, Harry. I see you,” he says, voice desperate. 

Harry shakes his head and puts his hands on Louis’s wrists, stepping out of his grasp. Louis lets his hands fall to his sides. “I was fine with Perrie at first, you know. But this has been going on for years now and I just can’t do it anymore. I can’t watch you kiss her and then have you come home still smelling like her while you’re making love to me. I can’t.” 

In the future, Louis will look back on this moment and still not be able to tell you what came over him and made him say what he does. He’s shocked at himself when he says, “Then maybe we shouldn’t. Do it anymore, I mean.” 

Harry looks as shocked as Louis feels. “What?” he splutters. “Louis, that’s not what I meant.” 

Taking a seat on their bed, Louis shudders. “Think about it. All we do is fight. We aren’t the same people we used to be and we’re just holding onto something that’s been gone for a long time.” 

Louis doesn’t even know if he believes his own words, they feel so wrong coming out of his mouth. But it feels even more wrong to keep dragging Harry around, to keep hurting him when he knows there isn’t anything he can do. At least not for a couple of years. And by then, whatever is left of the Harry he met and fell in love with will be long gone and it’ll be all his fault. That’s not something he can live with. 

It takes everything in him to look up at Harry’s horrified face, to keep going. “It seemed like a good idea back then. _We_ seemed like a good idea. And the sneaking around seemed fun, rebellious even. But all it’s doing now is killing us. One of us has got to put our weapons down, and if it has to be me then so be it. I’m done fighting.” 

Harry lets out a sob so fucking gut wrenching it makes Louis gag. He watches Harry fall to his knees, watches Harry crawl to him. Just watches. “No, Louis. Don’t do this. Please don’t. Don’t give up on us. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. This isn’t what I meant, I didn’t mean for this to happen, please-“ 

Louis’s own cheeks are wet now, and he reaches out to run a hand through Harry’s wild, sweaty hair. “You were right, though. I have lost sight of you and of us. It’ll be easier for both of us if we both get out now.” 

“It’s not supposed to be easy, Louis,” Harry sobs, clutching Louis’s legs. “You’re not supposed to just give up.”

“Baby, you had to know this was coming eventually. We couldn’t keep this up forever,” Louis chokes out. “And I’m not giving up. Think of it as me waving my white flag. I surrender.” 

“You’re my forever,” Harry says, his body going limp in front of Louis. “You can’t-you can’t _leave_ me.” 

And Louis can’t take it anymore. He hauls Harry up into his lap, crashing their mouths together in a kiss filled with love, regret, and tears. “I love you. I love you so much,” he whispers against Harry’s lips. 

Harry gasps, throwing his arms around Louis’s neck and holding on for dear life. “Don’t leave, please don’t leave,” Harry murmurs back, his whisper rough with tears and snot.

If Louis could see any other way out of this mess they’re in, he wouldn’t leave. He doesn’t even _want_ to leave, it just seems like the best thing to do right now. The right thing. 

But maybe it’s not the right thing. Maybe it’s the selfish thing because Louis is never home and he can’t spend the time he is home watching Harry fall apart and knowing he’s the reason for it. He can’t give Harry what he’s asking for.

Harry’s body is shaking in Louis’s arms and it takes every last bit of strength Louis has to pry Harry off of him and stand up. Harry’s hands start scrambling for Louis, desperate to make contact. “No, no, _no._ Louis, no.” 

The pain in Louis’s chest isn’t all in his head. He knows it’s real. He knows he can physically feel his heart break, can feel his entire world crumbling down around him. The ground is shaking with the weight of it and Louis has to get out now. He has to get out before the ground opens up and swallows them both whole. 

“I’ll send Liam or someone by to get my things later,” he says and then he’s gone, leaving Harry a broken mess on what used to be their bed. 

****

It’s been three days and Harry hasn’t left the bed. He’s ignored every call and text message from his mum, sister, and Niall. He wonders if they know what happened. If Louis told Niall and Niall told everyone else. 

Louis doesn’t call, doesn’t text, doesn’t send Liam by to pick up his things the way he said he would. 

It gives Harry a weird sense of hope, the fact that Louis left all of his belongings here. Realistically, he knows Louis has more than enough money to just buy all new things. But he likes to think he knows Louis well enough to know he wouldn’t just leave behind the box of his late mum’s old things. 

Day four is when Harry decides he should maybe change his clothes and try to eat. 

After stripping and changing his boxers, he goes downstairs to eat. He’s vaguely aware that the floor is like ice and the air is cutting through his skin like a knife, but he ignores it. 

The soup he makes has no flavor. (It probably does, Harry just can’t taste anything except pain). He only eats about three bites anyway before his gaze shifts to the island and he sees the plate of food he left out for Louis. 

It takes all of about five seconds after reading the little “Lou :)” written on it for him to let his bowl of soup clatter to the counter, liquid sloshing over the side. He barely makes it to the sink in time to throw up his three bites of soup and a round or two of bile. 

He doesn’t try to eat again after that. 

Day five is when Niall finally breaks in. Or, Harry guesses he isn’t really breaking in since he uses the key Louis taped to the bottom of their ceramic frog on the porch. 

Harry hates that frog, but Louis loved it. They’d been shopping for home decor when Louis spotted it. Harry remembers groaning, already despising it’s weirdly large eyes and wide smile. 

He remembers telling Louis, “No, absolutely not,” only to have Louis pout at him until he gave in. 

He’d received a big kiss on the cheek for that, along with a, “Thanks, baby,” a comment about how relationships are all about compromise, and promises of a sex marathon. All for a ceramic frog. That Louis named Benji. Like, the dog. 

Benji is even more of a nuisance now. Harry wants to smash him against the concrete and watch him shatter into little pieces, just like Louis did with his heart.

“Harry?” he hears Niall call from the front room. Then, “Jesus fucking Christ, mate! It’s like the Arctic in here!” 

Harry lifts his head from the couch to look at Niall with dead eyes before glancing over at the window. There’s ice formed along the sill and water on the floor in front of it. Huh. He must’ve never shut it. 

“Yeah. Guess so,” Harry mutters and lets his head flop back on the couch. 

Niall walks right past Harry to the window, shutting it with a shiver. “Mate, what is going on? Where is Louis? We thought you two had been murdered by a crazy fan or summat.” 

When Harry doesn’t answer, Niall walls over to the couch and hovers over him like an angry Irish monster. So, Harry turns his face into the couch cushion. 

“You haven’t been to the studio either, and these songs aren’t gonna write themselves,” Niall adds.

And right. Harry has a job. Harry’s a songwriter. A pretty in-demand songwriter at that. 

But the point is. He has an entire job that he’s neglected because the only thing consuming his thoughts is Louis. 

There’s another point to the entire situation he’s in right now which is: he can’t hide forever, especially not from Niall. “Louis broke up with me,” he mumbles into the couch. It comes out more like “Oo-ee oke uh wih me,” and it seems that Niall is just as useless as ever because he kicks Harry in the bend of his knees and says “What?” 

Harry mumbles it again and he hears Niall sigh in exasperation. “H, you’re eating couch cushion. I can’t understand you.” 

Feebly, Harry feels his broken heart give a few weak beats in his chest. He can hear it in his ears. Can hear the way even his breathing sounds broken and dead. It’s probably this realization that makes Harry tear away from the couch, tears already welling up in his eyes, and scream at his best friend of seventeen years, “Louis fucking broke up with me!” 

The shock of Harry yelling results in Niall stumbling backwards, barely catching himself from falling on the glass coffee table. He’s got this look in his eye, the one Harry knows means Niall thinks this is some big elaborate prank and Harry’s just fucking with him. 

It’s a testament to their closeness and Harry’s brilliance when Niall says, “Right. So, what really happened?” 

Normally, Harry wouldn’t reach behind him and grab a pillow. Normally, he wouldn’t chunk it at Niall’s head. Normally, he wouldn’t scream at his best friend. 

But this situation is far from normal, so Harry does all three.

“I’m not in the mood, Niall. He broke up with me,” Harry cries. 

Niall’s face falls and the anger dissipates from Harry’s body. He collapses in on himself, letting himself sob for the first time in days. 

For most of the time since Louis left, he’d been in a trance of denial, refusing to cry over something that wasn’t true. But now, he can’t hold it in anymore. 

“Oh, fuck. Harry,” Niall says gently. And then he’s there, wrapping Harry in familiar arms and rocking him back and forth. He’s there telling Harry everything is going to be okay, even when they both know it isn’t. 

Day six is when Harry accepts Louis isn’t going to change his mind. 

Well, he doesn’t accept it. He’s more or less forced to believe it. 

His phone is still void of any texts, calls, or e-mails from Louis. And he guesses that’s a big enough sign that Louis wasn’t just being dramatic, he truly meant it when he walked out. He didn’t just need time to cool off. 

Day six is also the day Harry decides he needs to take a fucking shower. He’s disgusting, and Niall doesn’t hesitate to point it out. 

Niall didn’t leave after Harry’s meltdown. He called his girlfriend, Bella, explained the situation, and told her he’d be gone for a few days. 

So far, Niall has cleaned the kitchen (and threw away the leftovers for Louis), soaked up the water in front of the window, started a load of laundry, and changed the sheets on their—Harry’s—bed. 

When he gets out the shower, Niall’s sitting there on the freshly made bed, clearly waiting for Harry to finish up. “You look like a whole new man,” Niall grins. 

“Smell like one, too,” Harry jokes, but his heart isn’t in it. 

“Thank God,” Niall responds, his eyes following Harry as he walks around the room, almost like he’s waiting for a bomb to go off. 

It’s quiet as Harry gets dressed and Harry knows well enough by now that if Niall’s being quiet, it’s because he has something to say that he doesn’t know if he should. “Spit it out,” Harry sighs. 

Niall looks guilty, but he speaks anyway. “How is this all supposed to work? You run in the same circles, you’re bound to run into each other. And it’s not like you can avoid his face when it’s on every bloody media platform in the world.” 

“Was thinking about going to LA,” Harry shrugs. 

“And that answers my question how, exactly?” 

“He’s in London recording for the next few months. If I’m in LA, there’s less of a chance I run into him. There’s more room for me to heal.” 

Niall looks incredulous. “What? You think a few months in LA is just going to fix the heartbreak and pain of losing someone whose pocket you’ve lived in for seven years?” 

“No, Niall. I don’t think it’s going to _fix_ anything. I don’t think this, whatever it is I’m feeling, is ever going to be fixed. But being an ocean away from him for a few months sure as hell would give me time to figure out how to cope and survive without him,” Harry rants, placing his hands on his hips at the end of his mini speech. 

“So, that’s it then? You’re not gonna fight for him?” Niall asks. 

Harry wants to laugh. Or cry. Or both. “Louis made it very clear he’s not interested in fighting for us. For me. I guess he never loved me as much as I thought he did, so I’m not going to waste my breath.” He rubs a hand across his freshly shaved face. “I tried to fight for us the night he left, but he wouldn’t even let me.” 

Niall shakes his head vehemently. “No. I’m sorry, but I refuse to believe any of that is true. I refuse to believe this is how the two of you end. It doesn’t make any bloody sense. You two were made for each other. He loves you. I know he does.” 

Harry takes a deep breath and picks up his dirty towel from the floor. “I wish you were right, Niall. You don’t know how badly I wish you were right.” 

****

LA is much nicer in February than London is. 

Harry’s only just gotten off of the airplane, but he can already see the sun shining brightly through the windows. 

His stomach growls, and he’s not really in the mood to eat, but he knows he should. He spots a kiosk ahead of him and walks toward it, already mentally deciding on a granola bar. 

The rows of magazines catch his eyes before he can get to his healthy snack. Right there, staring him in the face, is little glossy magazine paper Louis. Of course, he’s not alone. Perrie’s next to him. 

It’s Louis and Perrie in a cafe. Louis is crying and looking out of the cafe window. Perrie is reaching across the table, her hand on his arm and a look of distress on her face.

“Trouble in Paradise 2.0?” the text reads underneath them. And then, in smaller font, “Their rocky relationship seemed to be back on track, but everything is not always as it seems. More on page 28.” 

There’s building pressure in his chest, and the tell-tale burn of tears behind his eyes. No matter how angry Harry is at Louis, he knows Louis never wanted the deal with Perrie to go on for this long. He knows Louis hated it just as much as Harry did. 

He’ll admit that in addition to the sudden urge to cry, he also allows himself a bit of satisfaction at the fact that Louis clearly isn’t one-hundred percent okay. 

In a moment of weakness, Harry purchases the magazine with his granola bar and shoves it in his tote bag, refusing to have a breakdown in the middle of LAX. 

He picks up his rental car and drives straight to the studio, a song brewing in his fingertips. 

Once he gets there, he meets up with his friend Mitch and they don’t leave the studio for four days. Harry thinks he’s writes more songs in those four days than he has in his entire career to date. 

“I think I’ve got a friend in the market for some songs that would be interested in a few of these,” Mitch says at the end of day four when they’re having a beer on some dodgy bean bag chairs. 

Harry snorts. “Literally all I have to do is say I’ve got new songs and I’ll have a line ten miles long of people waiting to buy. I’m Harry Styles.” He doesn’t say it to sound cocky, or to brag. It’s just quite literally the truth. 

“Fuck yeah you are,” Mitch says. “That’s not what I meant. I meant I’ve got someone who would be a perfect performer for a few of these. At least one I know for sure. I knew it as soon as you wrote it.” 

Harry eyes the papers splayed out among them. Every song in the room is about Louis. “Which one?” 

Mitch’s voice is careful when he says, “‘Battlefield.’” 

_Any song but that song_ , Harry thinks. It’s incredibly raw and personal and it feels like it’s Harry’s broken heart smushed onto a sheet of paper. 

Tenseness seizes Harry’s body and looks at Mitch warily. “I dunno, mate. Wasn’t really planning on selling that one. It’s personal.” 

“All of your songs are personal, Harry. That’s what makes them so great. They’re real,” Mitch responds, taking a sip of his beer. 

Harry doesn’t need anyone to tell him how real his songs are. He knows. He lived them. 

Mitch searches through the mess of papers for a few seconds before he finds the one he’s looking for. He holds it up to the light and Harry closes his eyes as Mitch speaks. “I mean, listen to this, man. ‘No blood will spill if we both get out now. Still it’s hard to put the fire out.’ That’s fucking profound.” 

“I don’t want him to know,” Harry whispers into his beer. It’s lukewarm now and still mostly full. Harry’s only got it in his hands to feel like he’s got something left to hold on to. 

“I understand,” Mitch starts. “But I actually think it would be kind of therapeutic.” 

Maybe Mitch is right. Maybe what Harry needs is someone to take Louis’s words that Harry made his own and scream them back at Louis. Then maybe Louis will hear just how absolutely ridiculous it sounded for them. Other couples experienced this, but they didn’t. 

It was never supposed to be them. 

Harry looks up. “Who do you have in mind?” 

****

Harry meets Lea Michele on a Thursday. 

She’s every bit as lovely as Harry imagined she’d be, and she falls in love with “Battlefield” the minute the demo is played for her. 

She doesn’t ask questions, like a lot of people do. A lot of artists want to know the story behind the songs they buy so they can get in the right headspace when they record or perform them.

But it’s almost as if Lea can see it in Harry’s face, that he doesn’t want to talk about it. She just gives him a knowing pat on the arm and tells him how beautiful the song is. 

Since they all have a bit of time, Lea gets in the studio that same day, wanting to record a demo of her own. 

Harry doesn’t cry until he’s underneath the covers of his California king sized bed in his LA home. 

It’s weird, calling it his house. It’s in his name, but Louis was always here with him. The house never really felt like it belonged to just him. 

Niall and Bella arrive that night and drag Harry out to a swanky bar that he really doesn’t want to be at; but, he knows that his friends are just trying to help him and he’ll do anything if it means Niall will stop looking at him like his dog died. 

Harry tells him as much after his third tequila sunrise.

“Ooh! A dog!” Bella exclaims, clapping her hands together. “You should definitely get a dog. That’ll make you less lonely.” 

“I don’t want a dog,” Harry says as he sucks on an orange peel. 

Bella doesn’t listen, just plows on. “Get a girl and name her Bella. Then I’ll always be with you.” 

Niall snorts, wraps his arm around her shoulders, and presses a kiss to the side of her head. 

Harry tries not to wince at his friend’s happiness. 

“I think he needs to get laid,” Niall comments, leaning back in their booth. “It’s been two months.” 

The realization that Niall’s right, it _has_ been two months, hits Harry harder than expected. “Fuck. Two months. What the fuck.” 

“There’s a dashing looking lad over at the bar that’s been eyeing you all night long,” Niall continues. 

Harry rolls his eyes and quickly downs the rest of his drink. “I’m not sleeping with someone else, Niall. I was with Louis for seven years. I’m not ready for that and I don’t know if I ever will be. It would just make me feel worse.” 

“Fair,” Niall concedes. 

“On second thought, don’t name it Bella,” Bella says during a lapse in conversation. It takes Harry a few seconds to realize she’s still on the dog. “That makes me think of being a furrie and that makes me uncomfortable.” 

“Maybe lay off the gin and tonics, yeah babe?” Niall laughs. 

“Piss off. I’ll drink what I want in whatever quantities I want,” Bella snaps back. 

Harry smiles a real, genuine smile for the first time in two months. 

****

The first time Harry heard “Battlefield” on the radio, he was on the Pacific Coast Highway and had to pull over on the side of the road to take a few deep breaths. 

It’s been six months since Louis left Harry, and Harry has been back to London once. Both his mum and his sister, Gemma, have flown out to LA to stay with him for short periods of time, making sure he’s okay. 

But Louis doesn’t ever ask if he’s okay. In fact, the only reason Harry has any idea Louis is still alive is thanks to tabloids and the telly. 

Apparently things with Louis and Perrie are just peachy and they just returned from a nice holiday in Ibiza before Louis begins his promotional tour for his new album. 

Harry tries not to be resentful against Perrie. In fact, he’s spoken with her a few times since the breakup and even sold a few songs to her band. She apologizes every time they speak, saying she feels as if it’s her fault Louis broke up with him. 

Harry reassures her it’s no one’s fault but Louis’s and tries not to be bitter that her relationship with her girlfriend is still in tact. 

“Battlefield” has been number one in the US and the UK for seven weeks now, and Harry has received nothing but compliments. He’s even been offered a few interviews by some top tier magazines and journals to talk about his songwriting process. He declines them all, though. 

He’s just finished up ordering a drink at his favorite juice bar when he hears it. The voice that haunts him in his dreams. The only voice he’s wanted to hear since he was eighteen. 

Frozen in place, Harry’s breathing speeds up and the palms of his hands turn clammy. When he gets the nerve to turn around, Louis is there and he’s as beautiful as he’s ever been. 

Harry’s heart hurts. 

Louis’s hair is longer, and his skin has a tan from his holiday in Spain, and Harry hates that he didn’t know Louis has a new tattoo. It’s just a knots & crosses board, but Harry notices it immediately. 

“Louis,” Harry breathes out in a rush without thinking because when has he ever been able to think around Louis? 

Louis stops talking to the person he’s with, some businessman Harry doesn’t recognize. He looks over to Harry, and Harry sees a series of emotions pass over his face. He settles on shock, though. 

“Harry,” Louis says, equally as breathless. “You’re here.” 

_“You’re_ here,” Harry replies. 

“Liam went by our, sorry, your house to get my stuff and said you were gone.” Louis takes a few hesitant steps toward Harry, the distance between them growing smaller and smaller. “I was worried.” 

And God, Louis has some nerve. He was worried? Well, it sure didn’t fucking seem like it to Harry, “You weren’t too worried. You never called. Or texted.” 

“I didn’t think you’d want to hear from me,” Louis shrugs, looking down at the floor. There’s a blush creeping up the back of his neck.

“I always wanna hear from you, Lou.” Harry doesn’t know what it is that makes him say it. 

Louis looks up at him through his eyelashes that Harry’s always loved so much. Harry misses the way they’d brush feather-light against his cheek bone when Louis would press kisses to his jaw. 

“Heard the song. It’s beautiful. Beautiful lyrics,” Louis says. 

“Well, they’re your words. Not mine,” Harry replies honestly.

“Yeah. Yeah, I know,” Louis whispers.

Two girls choose that exact moment to nervously walk up to Louis. Harry wonders if they’re blind. Can they seriously not see that now isn’t a good time?

Louis looks at Harry apologetically. 

“See you around, Louis,” Harry says and leaves the shop without his drink. 

****

Seeing Louis again just reinforces what Harry already knew: He is definitely, one hundred percent, absolutely, completely and totally, still in love with Louis Tomlinson. 

No amount of tequila makes it any less true, despite how hard Harry tries. 

And Harry thinks it shouldn’t be so hard, really, to get over someone who did something as cruel and callous as Louis. But maybe it’s because he knows Louis in a way no one else does and has known him in that way for seven plus years. 

The media and fans can say whatever they want, but the truth is, they’ll never know Louis. Not the way Harry does. 

He guesses that’s why he can’t find it in himself to hate Louis completely. He’s still angry, and he’s still beyond hurt, and the trust is definitely, mostly gone; but, as the old adage goes, there’s a very thin line between love and hate. 

Looking back, Harry knows he put up with a lot of shit just to keep Louis. Shit no one should ever have to endure or go through in a relationship. But the circumstances were never normal. 

Most people didn’t sign their lives away to a record label and management company months before they met the love of their life. Most people didn’t have to hide their relationship for the sake of a few record sales. Most people didn’t have to pretend to be their boyfriend’s best friend and nothing more when they weren’t behind closed doors.

But Harry and Louis did. For seven years. And he guesses that’s enough to eventually break anyone, no matter how strong and indestructible they think their love is. 

And it’s not like Harry would ever ask Louis to give up his career for him because he knows he came second. He knows he came after Louis’s record deal. He knows he has no ground to stand on, not really. 

He just wishes he wouldn’t have had to beg Louis to fight, to find a lawyer who could find a loophole, to find a new record label. It’s not like labels weren’t tripping over themselves to try to secure Louis simply because he’s Louis Tomlinson. 

These are the thoughts that cross Harry’s mind as he walks absentmindedly through a grocery store, pushing along a trolley without any real destination in mind. He knows he needs to restock the fridge and pantry. As of this morning, all that was left was a six-pack of beer and some questionable cheese. 

“Mayonnaise,” he mutters to himself. Harry doesn’t even _like_ mayonnaise, but Louis likes mayonnaise and there always has to be mayonnaise in the house or Louis will throw a fit. 

It’s been six months. Harry doesn’t know why he feels the need to have mayonnaise in the house now. Maybe it was running into Louis after all this time, he doesn’t know. He just knows he needs it. 

He swerves his trolley around a few works, turning down aisle fourteen for the condiments. Except when he gets there, he’s met with half-empty shelves and workers milling around. 

Right. The store is being renovated. Things are being moved. 

Harry sighs and walks down the aisle, pausing when he gets to where the condiments should be. And they’re there, but the only mayonnaise present are giant tubs of the stuff. More mayonnaise than Harry has ever seen in his life. 

He strolls up and down the aisle a few more times, thinking for sure he must’ve missed it. This can’t be the only mayonnaise they have. Who needs that much mayonnaise? 

“Fuck,” he mutters to himself, leaning against the handle bar of the trolley and staring at the giant containers of mayonnaise that almost seem to be mocking him. 

He pulls out his phone and calls Niall, who answers on the first ring. “Niall,” he breathes into the phone, shocked at the way his voice is breaking. 

“Yeah, mate? You okay?” Niall asks, concern clear in his voice. “It’s like, one in the morning here.” 

“I can’t find the mayonnaise. I need mayonnaise. And all they have are these giant things of it and who needs that much mayonnaise, Niall!” Harry yells, his voice frantic. A young girl looks over her shoulder from where she’s re-stocking, giving him a worried glance. 

“Woah, Harry. Calm down. You don’t even like mayonnaise,” Niall says.

“But Louis has to have mayonnaise for his sandwiches!” Harry exclaims. Hot tears spill out of his eyes and down his cheeks and, fuck. Is he seriously crying over mayonnaise in the middle of a grocery store right now? 

Niall sighs through the phone. Harry can picture him running his hand down his face. He feels a flash of guilt for burdening his best friend, but then he remembers the one time Niall called him at three in the morning drunk and naked outside of bar, needing Harry to pick him up, and suddenly Harry doesn’t feel so guilty anymore. (To this day, he doesn’t know how Niall ended up naked. He won’t speak of it). 

“H...” Niall starts and oh no, Harry did not call Niall for a lecture. His best friend is quiet for a minute and then, “Ask a worker, yeah? There’s gotta be normal sized mayo somewhere.” 

Harry really loves Niall. 

“Thanks, Ni,” Harry whispers. 

“Anytime, H. I’ll see you next week?” 

“See you next week. Goodnight.” And really, it’s morning for Niall, but. Semantics. 

When Harry hangs up, the girl who looked at him earlier turns around. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but if you’d like, I can take you to the regular sized mayonnaise. There’s even mini ones,” she says, offering Harry a grin like she somehow knows he needs it. 

Harry sniffles and wipes at his eyes, giving the girl a watery smile. “That’d be great, thanks.” 

After Harry acquires his mayonnaise (regularly sized, thank God), he grabs a bag of sliced bread from the bakery before heading to the self check-out. 

He’s just grabbing the bag of bread to scan when suddenly the bread is not in the bag anymore. It’s all in the trolley and on the floor. 

Harry stands there, just looking at it. 

He then promptly bursts into a fresh round of tears. 

Any other day, he wouldn’t just leave the bread there; but, Harry can’t stand around and handle it today. So, he pays for the rest of his items and speed walks out of the store, crying and dodging glances the entire way to his car.

Harry’s just finished putting his groceries away when his phone chimes a custom tone he hasn’t heard for six months. He hates the way his stomach still swoops and his heart still drops at the sound of it. 

He grabs his phone, looking at the screen. He never changed Louis’s contact, so it still says “my love” with two heart emojis by it. Harry changes Louis’s contact name before he even reads the message. 

**Louis Tomlinson, 20:13:** It was really good to see you the other day. 

Harry’s heart twists painfully in his chest. His fingers hover over the keyboard, making little circular motions as he thinks of a response/tries to decide whether or not he should even respond at all. 

He’s always been weak, though, when it comes to Louis. 

_You, too, is_ what he settles on. Not too much, but not too little either. There’s a small part of him that’s happy Louis is still thinking of him and their small interaction days later. He wonders if it affected Louis as much as it affected him. 

He expects that to be the end of it, but not a minute later, his phone chimes again. 

**Louis Tomlinson, 20:16:** Can I call you? 

What? Just what? 

_What?_ Harry sends back. 

**Louis Tomlinson, 20:17:** Can I call you? Please, H. 

Harry realizes, as his eyes scan over the message, that he needs this. He needs to talk to Louis. He needs to hear his voice. 

_Yes_ , he says. 

It doesn’t take long for Harry’s phone to start ringing, “You’re Still the One” by Shania Twain blaring through the phone speakers. Louis’s contact picture flashes on the screen and it’s one of Harry’s favorites. He took it one morning after Louis had just woken up, all sleep rumpled and soft. 

Harry slides his finger across the screen to answer. “Hello?” he says, his voice betraying him and cracking at the end. 

“Harry,” Louis breathes. “ _Harry_ ,” he says again. 

“Lou,” Harry honest to God _whimpers_. 

“I miss you, baby. I miss you sooooo much,” Louis slurs, his voice (and state of mind) clearer now. 

He’s drunk. 

Harry’s heart sinks. “You’re drunk.” Briefly, Harry wonders how Louis managed to send text messages that were so coherent. 

“‘M not,” he protests, but Harry knows he is. Knows all too well what Louis sounds like when he’s drunk. 

“Why are you calling, Louis? Why now?” 

Louis giggles into the phone. “Because _Lime_ isn’t here to stop me anymore.” 

“Go to sleep, Louis,” Harry sighs. He pulls the phone away from his ear, more than prepared to hang up. 

“Wait, Harry!” Harry hears the grainy voice through the phone. He puts the phone back to his ear. 

“What?” 

“I love you.” 

Harry hangs up and slides to the kitchen floor, letting his phone clatter out of his hand and to the tile. 

Sobs wrack his body. It’s the kind of crying he hasn’t allowed himself to do since the three month mark of Louis leaving. 

How can Louis do that? What gave him the idea that it would be okay to call Harry up and rip whatever was left of Harry’s heart out of his chest? Hasn’t he already taken enough? 

Harry looks at the counter across from him, noticing one bag he forgot to unpack. He crawls across the kitchen floor and pulls it down to him, looking at the contents. 

Mayonnaise. 

Harry falls asleep on the kitchen floor that night with a bottle of mayonnaise clutched to his chest, the sound of his sobs echoing throughout the house. 

**** 

Louis wakes with a groan. Sunlight is casting through his newly rented LA home, painting the dark hardwood floor with golden streaks. 

His head is pounding and his stomach feels a little queasy, even though he knows he didn’t drink that much last night. He can remember last night clearly...and oh, God. _Harry_. 

Louis turns over in his too-big bed, shoving his face in his pillow and letting out another groan. He’d been completely coherent when he called Harry last night, which made it even worse that his moment of weakness wasn’t even under the strong influence of alcohol or drugs. 

Even though no one is there to witness it, his face heats up thinking about how he’d purposefully slurred his words to sound fucked out of his mind whenever Harry picked up the phone because it was easier to pretend that he wasn’t mostly sober. 

Louis rubs at his eyes, trying to fight the itchiness from lack of sleep. For the last six months, he has barely slept. He can’t because he doesn’t remember how to without a boy with curly hair and dimples in his arms. 

Louis spends most of his time on Liam’s couch, not being able to go back to his cold, empty flat in London with absolutely no trace of Harry anywhere because it had never been Harry’s home. 

Liam’s been there every time Louis has had a breakdown and tried to call Harry or go to their old house, reminding Louis why he left Harry in the first place. To save him. To spare him. To stop being the cause of the pain in his eyes and the hurt in his chest. 

But, Louis had to fly to LA for a few writing sessions that were previously set up, and Liam couldn’t get out of work, so Louis was on his own. Then he’d run into Harry at that juice bar, and really, how could Louis not call him and tell him he loved him when Liam wasn’t there to remind him why it was such a bad idea. 

Except now, in the light of day, Louis realizes just how bad of an idea it was. He knows Harry and knows that Harry wouldn’t have taken that well. He remembers the way his phone beeped in his ear to let him know the call ended after he’d said those three words that he’d been itching to say for months. 

Louis is well aware he has to rectify the situation. Without sparing a thought for the time, he grabs his phone and calls Harry. 

“Hello?” Harry’s gruff morning voice trills through the speaker and Louis’s heart clenches painfully in his chest. He can see Harry in bed, eyebrows furrowed in confusion and eyes barely open as he talks on the phone. Louis wants to be there beside him kissing his chest and telling him to hang up, whoever it is can wait a few more hours for them to sleep. 

“Harry?” Louis says dumbly. _Who the fuck else would it be?_ he thinks. 

“Louis,” Harry sighs, and he sounds much more awake now, but not in a good way. In a resigned way that tells Louis he’s probably about to hang up again. And Louis knows he deserves it, but he can’t let Harry go without apologizing.

“Wait, before you hang up. I just wanted to call and apologize for last night,” Louis breathes out quickly. 

Harry is quiet for a moment and then, “You remember last night?” 

Louis swallows thickly, preparing himself for the little white lie he’s about to tell. “Sort of. I was pretty far gone, but I know I called you. And I know...I know I probably said something I shouldn’t. Something that wasn’t fair.” 

Harry sniffs. “Yeah, you did. But it’s okay, we all make mistakes. Thank you for apologizing. Have a good day, Lou.” 

The familiar _beep beep beep_ rings in Louis’s ear, letting him know Harry has disconnected the call. 

“I love you,” Louis whispers to his phone call history. 

He doesn’t even have time to cry before his phone pings with a text message from his manager, Corina. 

**Corina Mather, 7:15:** Don’t forget your writing sessions this week. First one is today with Julian @ 11 and I’ve got you down for Jamie and his group tomorrow @ 14:30. Will send the rest of your schedule tomorrow xx 

Louis sends her a thumbs up as confirmation that he received her message. He’s excited that he gets to be back in the studio writing. It’ll be different without Harry, the professional songwriter, by his side, but it’ll still be cathartic. A way to get his feelings out. 

He reads over the text message from Corina again, pausing on “Jamie and his group.” He thinks he should probably send her a follow-up message asking who all Jamie’s group entails, but sleep sounds like a much better alternative. 

****

When Mitch asked Harry if he wanted to join him and Jamie for a writing session with an unknown artist, Harry jumped at the opportunity, wanting more than anything to have an excuse to be back in the studio writing. 

He didn’t even care that Jamie hadn’t told Mitch who the artist was, just that he had a time slot and Mitch could bring whoever he wanted. 

Looking back, Harry probably should have demanded to know who they were writing with. It would have saved everyone a lot of awkward tension. 

He’s laughing when he walks into the studio. Mitch is finishing up a story about his girlfriend, Sarah, and some questionable bananas that leaves Harry near tears and with a cramping stomach. That’s why he doesn’t notice the shocked blue eyes burning a hole in his head until it’s too late for him to turn around and bolt. 

His laughter stops abruptly and he leaves the puddles of water at the corners of his eyes. _“Louis?”_ Harry wants to die. 

“Hi,” Louis says quietly.

It’s been a day since Harry last heard Louis’s voice, but he thinks that’s one day too long. He’s briefly amazed at himself for managing to last six months without it. 

“Well, this is sufficiently awkward,” Mitch mutters and runs a hand through his hair with an annoyed sigh. 

Jamie walks in the room, stopping immediately, similarly to the way Harry had. “Shit, dude. You could’ve told me you were bringing _Harry_.” 

“And you could’ve told me the artist was Louis!” Mitch fires back. 

“You didn’t ask!” Jamie exclaims.

Mitch throws his hands up. “Neither did you!” 

The bickering continues for a while, Harry and Louis shifting awkwardly on their feet and avoiding eye contact. Harry hates the way it makes his heart ache. The last time he was in a studio with Louis, he had his head in Louis’s lap as they wrote the day away together. 

Harry can’t really take it anymore, the bickering, the fighting, the awkwardness. It’s all too much. The last six months have been enough turmoil to last him a lifetime. So, he sighs and holds a hand up. “Stop. It doesn’t matter. What’s done is done. We’re all adults here, I think we can be civil enough to write together for an afternoon,” he says. 

Everyone looks at him in shock, Louis especially. 

“Dude, only if you’re sure. We can leave right now,” Mitch says loudly, not even trying to be discreet. 

Harry looks at Louis, holding his gaze. “I’m sure.” 

Louis flushes, and Harry tries not to find it endearing, but he fails. He’s secretly pleased he still has the ability to fluster Louis and make him unsteady. He’s glad he’s not the only one barely keeping his head above water here. 

“Okay...well, if we’re all on the same page here, we should get started,” Jamie says, obviously treading lightly. 

Harry claps his hands together and throws himself onto a couch. “Great!” he says and hopes his voice didn’t come out as high pitched and squeaky as it sounded in his head, but judging by the look of concern he receives from Mitch, he’s had no such luck. 

Mitch and Jamie sit down, but Harry is hyperaware of Louis and where he chooses to sit, which is on the couch next to him. Harry’s entire body tenses up and he’s shocked at the amount of nerve Louis seems to have lately, nerve he never had before when they were together. 

Louis shifts awkwardly and leans forward to grab his solid black book bag, pulling out a very worn and very familiar leather journal Harry knows is filled with Louis’s emotions transformed into songs and poetry. “I’ve got a rough draft of something already that I’d really like to have some input on,” he says after clearing his throat, addressing Jamie moreso than anyone else. Harry tries not to let it sting. 

Harry watches as Louis’s deft fingers flip through the crinkled pages of the journal, pages his fingers have brushed over countless times. The move is instinct, practiced and Harry can tell by the way it takes Louis no time at all to get to the page he was searching for that this is something fresh, something Louis is itching to get out. 

“Let’s take a look at it then,” Jamie says and takes the offered journal from Louis, and Harry notices the way Louis’s hands have a slight tremble to them. 

He rolls his eyes because Louis shaking is normally a sign that he hasn’t had anything to eat all day. He fumbles around in his own bag before his fingers close around a slightly smashed granola bar. With a lightly nudge to Louis’s shoulder, Harry mumbles a “here” and hands the snack to Louis. 

Louis’s eyes grow wide briefly and then he offers Harry a small, tentative smile. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.” 

Harry shrugs, averting his eyes from Louis’s face. “Well, you have to eat so somethig actually gets done here.” Harry knows his tone is biting and dismissive, but he can’t help the fact that his walls are up and he’s in full defense mode. Louis broke his heart. 

Louis opens his mouth to speak, but he doesn’t have a chance to say anything before Jamie is calling their attention back to him. 

“This is really good, man. I think a few things could be moved around for a better flow. You’re thinking of more ballad-esque music to accompany the lyrics, right?” Jamie says and runs his eyes over the page again. 

“Let me see,” Harry says and holds his hand out for the journal. Jamie eyes him, but drops it in his hand nonetheless. The weight and texture is familiar, and Harry’s fingers curl around it tightly. 

His eyes flicker down to the page, the words jumping out at him in bursts of colorful pain. 

_There was something missing in her eyes._

_Want to wake up and see your face._

_Could we ever be enough?_ _  
_

_I’ll make this feel like home_. 

With an ugly clearing of his throat, Harry passes the journal over to Mitch. Louis is looking at him, Harry knows he is, but he can’t find it in himself to look back. He’s always been transparent, Louis able to see right through him without even trying. 

Harry knows if he looks at Louis now, Louis will be able to see the heartbreak written all over his face because see, the song has to be about them. Who else would Louis have written it about? And does this mean Louis misses Harry? Regrets what he did? Wants him back? 

He wants to scream and cry, ask Louis why he did what he did. Ask him if he ever loved Harry at all or if he was really just that disposable, if those seven years really meant so little. 

What he does instead though, is offer actual, legitimate advice about the song. “It’s really good. I think you should maybe repeat the ‘I’ll make this feel like home’ portion twice at the end of the second round of the chorus for emphasis.” 

Louis beams at the suggestion, his eyes lighting up. “Yeah, yeah. That sounds great, actually. Makes sense.” 

Harry nods, staring at the blank red wall of the recording studio and fighting his desire to be anywhere else, yet right where he is, all at once. 

They go over a few more songs, _Once in a Lifetime, Strong,_ and _Spaces_ before they break off to do their own things for a little while. Harry’s chewing the top of his pen and in the process of writing his newest love declaration to Louis when Jamie stands up and stretches. “I think I’m gonna call it a night, guys,” he announces, nodding his head to the clock where it reads 2:08 AM in red. 

Mitch follows him. “I think I’m gonna go, too. Harry, are you coming with me?” he asks. 

Harry probably should, but he’s so close to finishing this song and he’s in his creative zone. He’s too scared to break it now, so he just shakes his head and goes back to writing. He thinks he hears Mitch warn Louis about not starting anything, but he lets it go in one ear and out of the other. 

The resounding thud of the door closing shakes the walls and breaks Harry out of his mini trance. “Are you leaving?” he asks Louis. 

“Um, I wasn’t planning on it, but I can if you want me to,” Louis replies. 

Harry is currently sprawled on the floor, laying on his stomach with his socked feet crossed at the ankles in the air. He shifts on his elbows to look at Louis over his shoulder. “It’s your studio time. I’m the one intruding. I could leave.” 

Louis shakes his head quickly. “You could never intrude.” 

Harry sighs. “Don’t start, Lou.” 

“I just want to talk,” Louis says. 

“I gave you a chance to talk six months ago and you didn’t take it. You can’t really expect me to open closed wounds right now.” Harry moves into a sitting position, then clambers to his knees and stands up to face Louis. His heart is jack-rabbiting in his chest, but he won’t back down now.

Disappointment flashes across Louis’s face. “Closed?” 

Harry blanches. That’s definitely not what he meant to say. “You know what I mean,” Harry says instead of attempting to lie. 

“I don’t.” The look that settles on Louis’s face is one that Harry knows well. He’s gearing up to fight, preparing for a battle. 

“Stop it.” 

“Stop what?” 

“This!” Harry exclaims, surprising himself with his own outburst. “After seven fucking years, you ripped my heart out, shit all over it, and then disappeared for six months without calling or texting once!” 

Louis, never one to be outdone in an argument, doesn’t shrink into himself the way Harry sometimes would. “Because I thought it would be easier!” 

“For _who?_ You or me?” Harry yells and takes a step closer to Louis. He can feel his blood beginning to pulse faster, his heart beat a little more rapidly. 

Louis opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. 

“That’s what I thought you selfish _fucking_ prick.” Harry bends down to grab his shoes, wanting to bolt as soon as possible. He knows if he stays any longer he’ll say or do something he regrets. Something they can’t come back from. And Harry can’t live without Louis in his life at all. 

“Harry,” Louis says calmly. 

Harry determinedly continues packing his things. 

_“Harry,”_ Louis repeats, more sternly this time. 

Harry throws his sweatshirt on the couch, arguably more aggressive than necessary. “What?” he huffs. 

He barely has a chance to turn around before Louis is on him, gripping his face between his hands and crashing their mouths together. Harry is tense for a moment and then he melts into it, his body craving the familiar touch. He can feel the blood in his veins thrumming a mantra of _LouisLouisLouis_ and he’s absolutely, completely dizzy with it. 

His body molds against Louis’s, muscle memory taking over like a well-oiled machine. Harry’s on auto-pilot when he lets Louis shove the mess of papers and unfinished songs off of the couch to nudge him back onto it. Their mutual words of heartbreak and pining scatter to the floor, creating a bed of emotion for them. 

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Harry’s screaming at himself to stop, but he can’t. Kissing Louis is like rain in a drought and Harry is dying of thirst. Anything else can wait. 

Harry ends up on his back with Louis straddling his thighs, a high-pitched gasp leaving his throat when Louis coaxes his mouth open with his own and slides their tongues together. He’s grappling for purchase on any part of Louis, his hair, his shirt, his hips--anything to ground him to this moment so he doesn’t float away. 

Louis breaks their kiss to press his lips down Harry’s neck in quick succession, stopping right above Harry’s collarbone to suck a mark. “Lou,” Harry whines breathlessly, arching his back and causing their hips to rub together. Louis tightens his hold on Harry’s arms at the sensation, sucking on his skin a little harder. 

It’s so easy to fall into this, to pretend everything is okay and that they haven’t been apart for six months. To forget that Louis ended this and broke Harry completely when he did so. 

“Harry, baby,” Louis pants against Harry’s neck. 

Harry hates the way the term of endearment makes him hard, makes him buck his hips up for more friction. 

It’s when Louis reaches for the button on his jeans that Harry’s body freezes and stops, shying away from Louis. 

“Harry?” Louis asks breathlessly, concern laced in his voice. 

Harry closes his eyes. “Stop. I can’t do this.” His body and his heart are saying otherwise, but his head wins this round. 

Louis sits back on his haunches, running a hand through his slightly sweaty hair, his lips kiss-bitten. 

Harry slides out from underneath Louis awkwardly, grabbing his bag and hurrying to the door. 

“Harry, your songs,” Louis calls. 

“Keep them. There’s nothing worth anything in there anyway,” Harry replies and then he’s gone, disappearing into the night. 

Louis looks down at the mess of papers on the floor and picks one up. “If I Could Fly by Harry Styles,” he whispers, eyes welling up with tears as he reads the words. 

_If I could fly, I’d be coming right back home to you._

_Right now I’m completely defenseless._

_I’m missing half of me when we’re apart._

_I can feel your heart inside of mine._

_Now you know me, for your eyes only._

  



End file.
